


Repair, Replace, Restore

by WaywardGraves



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Credence is 18, Graves is like 35 or something, In character until she gets drunk, Kissing, M/M, Mary Lou Barebone is Her Own Warning, Modern AU, Original Percival Graves is a Softie, She's a little ooc, Slow Burn, bad decisions are made and are not totally fixed so keep that in mind, this is probably as close to fluff as I get
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 22:36:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10626555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardGraves/pseuds/WaywardGraves
Summary: Credence is a poor, abused boy who needs help fixing a mistake. Mr. Graves owns a repair shop that can help. Y'all should know I'm really bad at summaries by now.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally titled Kintsugi until I realized @Emmeri had already made one for our fandom (it's awesome btw check it out! http://archiveofourown.org/works/8642167)

“You idiot, look what you’ve done!” His mother yells at him. Bringing his hands up he tries to placate her anger.

 

“Ma, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, it was an accident.” His shoulders hunch to his ears and he tucks his chin to his chest. Trembling, he fixates his eyes on his shoes. He desperately wants to move away but he knows his mother’s fury would only get worse if he does.

 

“No Credence, you’re the accident here.” She says, stalking towards the broken glass on the ground. “This vase was your grandfather’s. It’s the most important thing I’ve got and you had to go and ruin it!” Her voice is slurring slightly from the alcohol but her eyes are sharp.

 

Credence just remains silent, there’s nothing he can say to appease her. After eighteen years under her care he knows when a fight is a lost cause, she’s not going to listen to anything he says. If he just keeps quiet and keeps out of the way, hopefully his punishment won’t be too bad. He’s pulled from his musings when his head snaps to the side from a well-practiced backhand his mother directed his way, sending him sprawling to the floor. He pushes himself onto his hands and knees and sends a silent prayer thanking God he didn’t land on the broken vase. Keeping his dry eyes fixed on his hands, he digs his finger into the floor as much as he can. 

 

Unlike just a moment ago, all quivering has ceased and he remains deathly still. His already pale skin lost any color it had left. His breathing is shallow —partly due to the pain in his chest from earlier and partly from the fear that’s stringing tension throughout his body so tight he thinks he might break. He waits there for an eternity while his mother looms over him and he awaits her verdict.

 

“You will find a place to repair this in the morning, you understand?” She says.

 

“Yes, Ma.” He says, little more than a whisper.

 

“I want it returned good as new, you hear me?”

 

“Yes, Ma.” He says again.

 

“Good. Go to bed, you won’t be getting supper tonight.” Credence just nods his head mutely this time, not wanting to press his luck. “What was that?”

 

“Thank you, Ma.” He says, hoping that’s what she’s looking for. Fortunately, she sends him one last glare and walks into the living room.

 

Credence sinks down onto his forearms and the trembling returns in full force. He tries to take deep breaths but they catch in his sternum on the exhale. He knows he’s going to have a bruise there tomorrow from when his mother shoved him earlier. She had started yelling at him since he was late home from school. He ended up missing the bus and because he didn’t own a phone he had no way of letting her know. She had been livid and pushed him sending the tall, scrawny kid toppling into the cheap Ikea table, knocking the white vase onto the ground.

 

On shaky legs he gets up and retrieves his backpack. He gathers the broken pieces from the ground, fortunately there are only about three all together with a few smaller shards on the side. Overall, it shouldn’t be that hard to put back together but he doesn’t dare try it himself in case he messes it up—as his mother loves to remind him, that’s all he ever does.

 

Taking the backpack upstairs with him he gingerly sets it against his night stand next to his rickety bed, afraid of breaking the contents further. His room is hardly large enough to fit those two items alone but that’s okay because he has clothes in his closet and a blanket and pillow to sleep with, he knows he doesn’t need anything else. He shouldn’t be greedy. After changing, he lays down and is careful to avoid the few parts of his mattress where the springs have started to poke through. Fortunately for Credence, he’s a very still sleeper, a learned behavior that helped him maintain some semblance of comfort throughout the years when his mother’s temper was particularly bad. 

 

The next morning he wakes at five o’clock promptly to prepare coffee and breakfast, a simple meal of toast and eggs. A loud rumbling comes from his stomach at the smell, but he knows better than to waste more food. The last time he tried to make himself breakfast, Ma had noticed the missing ingredients and wouldn’t let him eat for three days. He could hold out until he got home after school.

  
  


His footsteps are light as he goes into her room and leaves the meal on her bedside table. Returning to the kitchen he grabs the Yellow Pages from one of the drawers and starts looking for somewhere to fix the vase that’s open before he has to go to class. Finding one that’s along his bus route is difficult but he manages. Settling on  _ Mr. Graves’ Furniture Emporium: Repair, Replace, Restore _ he writes down the address and returns upstairs to get ready.

 

If he’s to make it to school by seven he needs to leave soon. He hastily tries to ready himself but it’s difficult getting his arms over his head; the pain in his chest has worsened overnight. He chances a glance at himself in the mirror, something he usually tries to actively avoid but he needs to know how high the bruising goes and if he needs a high collared shirt. He forces himself to ignore the normal faults. The old, silver scars that litter his torso. The way his stomach is distended even though he doesn’t eat and the fact he can easily count every rib. He’s just thankful there’s little discoloration on his chest even though it feels like he’s sucking in fire with every breath. The same can’t be said about his face though. A dark purple welt has formed at the epicenter of his mother’s strike, soft green and yellow lines spiderweb out across his face. It’s not the worst he’s ever had but it’s too prominent to cover with makeup. He’ll have to think of an excuse this time if anyone at school asks what happened.

 

Finally succeeding in getting a long-sleeved shirt and some pants on he opens the drawer in his night stand and removes the empty coffee container he uses as a piggy-bank. His mother allows him to do odd jobs for the neighbors sometimes so as not to arouse suspicion, but she forbids him from spending any of the money. Often she will ask to count it and make sure it’s all there, she says he has to save it for when they really need it and Credence is sure this qualifies as one of those times. Shoving the thirty-two dollars he has inside his backpack, he grabs his threadbare coat for protection against the morning chill. Although the coat is better than nothing, his teeth still chatter all the way to Mr. Graves’ Emporium.

 

Aside from the cold this time of morning is always Credence’s favorite. Walking around The Woolsworth District before too many people are up and about is calming. There’s no one he has to answer to, no fear of having to talk to anyone. Sometimes in the summer, he’ll get up even earlier (just to be certain no one would be around) and he will go walking around wearing a T-Shirt. Of course, he brings a jacket with him in case Ma sees him when he gets home. He doesn’t want to imagine what she’d do if she knew of this small act of rebellion but in those moments when he’s alone and free on the streets he almost can’t bring himself to care.

 

After the forty-five minute walk he arrives at Mr. Graves’. He’s very thankful he chose a shop with a bus stop nearby that he can catch to school. It’s sandwiched between a small grocery market and a tea house. He pushes open the glass door and when he walks is he finds… well not what he was expecting to find. The floor of the shop is small and crammed pack with so many items that Credence feels a little claustrophobic, which is saying something considering the bedroom he’s used to. 

 

Every inch of the walls are covered in paintings, antlers, taxidermied animals, frames, random family pictures, and shelves that are holding every type of home appliance from stereos to toasters. The floor itself is difficult to navigate, a small path carved out to the checkout counter in the back of the room. There are sofas, tables, chairs, ovens, Buddha statues, musical instruments, and a remarkable amount of Maneki-neko cat figures covering every surface. Credence is almost at the counter—squeezing between a large, stuffed actual bear that’s taller than him and a large, stuffed teddy bear that is also taller than him when he nearly has a heart attack as he accidentally sets off a Big Mouth Billy Bass and  _ Take Me to the River _ starts blaring in the quiet of the shop.

 

Clutching the counter for support after his near-death experience he hears someone call out to him in the back. When a head of dark hair pokes around the corner Credence is surprised. Mr. Graves is, like his shop, not what he was expecting. The man is a little shorter than him, but he radiates confidence. Credence is sure he could have a hundred people’s attention by just being in the room. And the set, square jaw plus the warm brown eyes that seem to bear into his soul makes him… well it makes him  _ gorgeous _ . Credence shudders at the thought, if Ma knew he has thoughts like this… he’s distracted from his thoughts when the man speaks.

 

“Hello, I’m Mr. Graves. What can I do for you this fine morning?” He says with a slight Brooklyn accent.

 

“Um…” Credence begins, “I was wondering if you could help fix a vase of mine.” He takes off his backpack and removes the broken glass, laying the pieces on the counter. “I’m not sure how much you charge for you services.”

 

The man looks him over again and his eyes narrow, “That looks like a nasty bruise, are you alright?”

 

“Oh, yes sir. I just fell and… hit the t-table. That’s how I broke the vase.” He says, stumbling over the almost lie.

 

Mr. Graves’ brows knit together but he doesn’t say anything more on the subject, “Let’s take a look then, shall we?” He says, examining each shard carefully in delicate hands. “This isn’t so bad, it’s a pretty clean break.” He’s fitting different parts together, seeing where they should go, “But it looks as though there are some parts that splintered.”

 

“What’s that mean?”

 

“It means some little fragments have been lost so the vase won’t be whole again.”

 

Credence pales at that, if he can’t fix it his mother will be furious. “I thought I got everything…” He trails off.

 

“It’s not your fault, it is very hard to find every little piece when something breaks. Sometimes they’re lost forever. That doesn’t mean I can’t fix it though.”

 

“You can still fix it?”

 

“Oh, yes. It may not be perfect but it’s fixable. Tell me, my boy, have you ever heard of Kintsugi?” Credence shakes his head. “Kintsugi is a method of repair. I take gold or silver color and mix it with paste. I can use it to mend the broken pieces and fill in the gaps where the missing parts are. Hold on for a minute.”

 

Mr. Graves returns to the back room and he can hear the man rummaging around for a few minutes before he comes back with a small tea cup. It’s solid black aside from gold threads that spiral around the cup in different directions. “The cracks should not be hidden but should be accepted. This cup could have been thrown away but instead it’s more beautiful than it was before.”

 

Credence nods his head. If this is the only way to fix it he’ll do it, “Okay. How much will it cost?” He asks. Mr. Graves seems to be appraising him and he looks away, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

 

“Fifteen dollars.” The man finally answers and Credence huffs out a sigh of relief, he didn’t expect it to be so cheap but he’s not going to complain. As he goes to pull the money from his bag but Mr. Graves just waves him away. “You can pay when you pick it up. Is there a number I can reach you at when it’s done?”

 

The boy flushes, “Oh, I don’t really have a phone. How long does it normally take to be ready?”

 

“I should have it done in about two days.” He replies, at Credence’s dejected look he says, 

 

“Mending is a process if you want it done right.”

 

Nodding his head again he asks, “May I pick it up after school in two days? Around four?”

 

“That should work just fine.” Mr. Graves says, grabbing a post-it note and writing down the date and time, “What’s your name?”

 

“Credence, sir. Credence Barebone.”

 

“Alright then, Credence Barebone. What color would you like, gold or silver?”

 

He thinks about it, the teacup looks very nice he decides. “Gold, please.”

 

“Very well, then. I will have your vase soon. Have a good day, now.”

 

“You as well, sir.” He says, turning around and attempting to make it back to the front door without knocking anything over. 

 

It would be apt to say Credence’s day at school passes without any issue. He’s always been one to keep to himself and it seems like everyone else prefers him that way too. He gets good grades, turns his papers in on time, only speaking in class when he’s called on; his teachers find him a model student. He also doesn’t do anything to warrant the bullies’ attentions he has no weird hobbies, he doesn’t flaunt his grades around, and being half a foot taller than most of the others in his grades means even the jocks have to look up if they wanted to talk to him even if he bows his head and hunches his shoulders, as he’s prone to do during confrontation. 

 

Every time a teacher made eye contact with him throughout the day his stomach seized up, expecting the question about how he bruised his face. He practiced his story that he tripped and fell into a table over and over again in his head, yet the words never came. Not from any of his teachers, or the staff in the hall, or even the nice librarian he sometimes talks to when he spends his lunch period reading books since he doesn’t bring anything to eat. 

 

While he’s relieved that he doesn’t have to lie to anybody he can’t help but feel a little vexed at the fact that no one cares enough to mention it. Deciding to count their continued silence a win he gets home on time today, thankfully. He makes a quick sandwich and takes it and his homework to his room, evading his mother at all costs. The only time he speaks to her is when she bangs on his door asking if he got the vase fixed. He tells her it’s in the shop and she mercifully leaves him alone for the rest of the night.

 

The next two days pass in much the same manner, avoiding contact with people at school and his mother at home. After the last bell rings for the day Credence catches the bus to the stop near Mr. Graves’ store. Getting through the shop is easier this time around, yet he’s still startled when  _ Take Me to the River  _ booms when he reaches the counter. Mr. Graves comes around the corner and gives him a genuine smile.

 

“Credence… how are you doing today?” He says, talking to the boy like they were old friends.

 

“Very well sir, how are you?”

 

“Excellent, thank you for asking. Now I got your vase all ready for you to take home. Give me just one moment.” He says, getting down on his knees. When he stands back up he’s holding a perfectly reconstructed white vase that Credence knows. Where cracks had previously been elegant lines of gold curl around the vase seamlessly, like they were always meant to be there.

 

“It’s beautiful, thank you so much.” He says, handing over the fifteen dollars he owes.

 

“Not a problem, my boy. I’m glad it’s to your liking.”

 

“Very much sir, you helped me out of a bind by fixing this. I really appreciate it.”

 

“Take care, now.” Mr. Graves says.

 

“You too.” Credence offers a small smile and leaves with his vase.

 

The walk home isn’t so bad now that he knows his mother won’t berate him over the vase anymore. He keeps turning the vase over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship put into the repair. If anyone were to look at it they’d have no idea that this wasn’t the way it was originally made. Credence thinks it’s an improvement from the plainness of the original model.

 

He sets the vase on its table when he comes into the house, makes a quick sandwich as always, then retires to his room for the night. He gets through most of his homework when he hears his name shouted from downstairs. A numbness starts to spread through his body at the sound, knowing nothing good can come from it. He’s hyperaware of the muscles in his face and he tries to school it into a neutral expression before he goes to see what he could’ve possibly done now. He knows making his mother wait would only make things worse and his body seems to move on it’s own accord. 

 

Reaching the bottom of the stairs he sees his mother holding the vase. Her expression is completely blank when she speaks, “Credence, what is the meaning of this?”

 

He’s not sure what response she’s looking for, averting her eyes he says “It’s your vase Ma. I picked it up from the shop today.” Out of the corner of his eye he can see her jaw clench. So that was the wrong answer.

 

“I realize it’s my vase. Why does it look like this?”

 

“The man at the shop said it was the only way t-to repair it.” He says, his voice wavering, “There were missing fragments, this was how he filled them in. It’s called K-Kintsugi.”

 

“I don’t give a damn what it’s called! Did I not say get it fixed good as new? Or are you just too stupid to listen to my words?” Her neutral expression giving way to her fury. Credence only has a second to kick himself for not realizing the Kintsugi was a mistake, when she lifts it above her head and hurls it toward the ground. White and gold splinters on impact and glass covers the floor.

 

His mother stalks toward him, mindless of the shards she steps on, breaking them beyond repair. She stops in front of him, Credence has a good foot in height on her yet he cowers under her gaze. He draws his shoulders up; the trembling has spread from his voice to his entire body and his posture is stooped; his hands clench and unclench at his side, desperate for something to help him get his bearings. The tremors worsen when his mother brings her hand up, pushing his dark hair behind his ears in a gesture that would’ve been seen as caring had it come from anyone else. She cards her hand through his hair again then grabs a handful at the nape of his neck, pulling it back harshly so he’s forced to meet her eyes. Instinctually one of his hands flies up to grab hers, trying to pry her fingers off which only incites her anger even more.

 

She pushes him in front of her and kicks the back of his leg, dropping him onto his knees. His mother shoves his face towards the remnants of the vase like a dog who’s made a mess.

 

“Do you see what you made me do?” She’s crouched down behind him, her lips are close to his ear and her voice is low. “You can’t even do the one thing I ask right. And now, because of you, it’s destroyed.” With a rough shove of his head she lets go of him and stands up. “You’re a fucking useless waste of space.” She says, sending a sharp kick to his ribs. He hisses out in pain as he falls, the glass biting into his palms. Unlike his knees there’s no fabric to soak up the blood that starts dripping on the tile below. He does his best to remain quiet and still to prevent further injury.

 

Her presence towers over him, “I can see that no matter how hard I’ve tried over the years my lessons don’t seem to get through that thick skull of yours. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying.” She says, and the she holds a palm out, face up. “Give me your belt.”

 

Credence actually looks at her in disbelief. She hasn’t requested that of him in years, and for such a minor infraction. “Ma, please—” He begs.

 

“You are my son and it’s my job to discipline you. Now if you don’t do what I say then I’m going to double the number.” Shaky hands reach down to undo the metal fastening and surrender  the thin strip of leather. She grasps the buckle firmly and Credence wants to plead again. To beg her not to do this. But when he looks up at her there’s no mercy in her eyes. He drops his head in resignation. “Take off your shirt, if it gets ruined I’m not buying you another one.” He does as he’s asked silently, trying not to let the blood from his hands stain the fabric as he sets it to the side. “I think ten strikes will be sufficient.”

 

Through the first three lashes he chews his lip, holding back the cries that bubble up his throat. By the fourth his mouth fills with the taste of copper but the sting of his lip does nothing to numb the pain in his back. As the sixth lands he collapses onto his forearms and the he hears whimpering that he only vaguely registers is coming from himself. Several moments pass but next blow doesn’t come. He glances over his shoulder briefly and sees his mother staring at his back, her head cocked to his side and a contemplative look on her face. Looking away before he’s caught he takes the brief reprieve to try and catch his breath. He isn’t prepared for the next three strikes that land in rapid succession, the cold metal of the buckle biting into his flesh.

 

“Clean this up and get to bed.” Comes her terse reply. “Tomorrow, I want you up early to go back to that shop and get a new vase. It may not be the same but we need something for the table.” She leaves, dropping his belt next to him on the way, and he pushes himself to his knees once again. The agony in his back is one of the worst things he’s ever felt and he’s half angry that she didn’t knock him unconscious. He gets a trash bag from the kitchen and every step he takes feels like it should be his last. He would collapse on the cold tile if he didn’t think his mother would punish him again for that. The thought of another beating so soon is enough to spur him into getting the pieces into a pile, not even feeling the way they sting his already damaged palms, and he gets a wet towel to soak up the pool of blood that had formed around him.

 

The rest of the night passes in a haze. The shower he takes is almost as bad as the abuse itself but at least he’s clean by the end of it. He gets all his towels and lays them on his bed, afraid of staining the mattress. A momentary lapse in his normal judgement causes him to lay down on top of the metal springs that poke through his bed. With a hiss of pain he jolts, irritating his injuries further. He moves toward the back of the bed and, curling up on his side, he tries to be as still as possible to not aggravate his wounds. It’s a difficult feat when every breath feels like it’s going to tear him in two. Tears pool in his eyes and start cutting tracks over his nose and down to his ear. He really doesn’t want to cry; logically he knows it’s just going to stuff up his nose and make his breathing even more difficult, but he can’t find the strength to stop it. Sobs wrack his broken frame and overwhelming grief rises in his sternum like a caged beast trying to escape. He wants to scream. He wants to claw at the sheets beneath him. He wants the vase to be whole so he can be the one to smash it to pieces. He doesn’t do anything but contort in on himself and the pitiful noises escaping from his throat eventually lull him to sleep like a lullaby.

 

He gets up early to go back to Mr. Graves’ before school to find a new vase. Rising from the bed he winces as the towels peel from his back, tearing at the scabs that had formed and blood starts oozing freely again. He gets his pants on and reaches for his belt where it lies curled up, like a snake ready to strike, from the night before. He feels sick to his stomach at the sight of his blood on the gleaming buckle. After washing it as best he can he finds the tightest, dark colored shirt he has, and gets his jacket. He so desperately wants to just go to school and find another stupid vase when he can move faster than a snail but he’s unsure if he would actually survive another punishment if he comes home empty handed tonight.

 

The walk to the Emporium would’ve been uneventful had every step not made Credence want to light himself on fire just to stop the pain. The journey goes by in a fog, it feels like an eternity passes before he’s back in front of the shop, yet he can’t really remember anything from the forty-five minutes he spent getting there. He thinks he should get a medal for being able to navigate the crooked aisles of the shop in his current state and he can’t really muster up anything more than a glare at the Billy Bass when it starts singing. He clutches the counter for support as his view swims in and out of focus. Shallow gasps come from his mouth and it’s practically impossible to catch his breath. He hears Mr. Graves come around the corner but he can’t seem to get his eyes to actually look at him.

 

“Hello, my boy, what brings you here? Break another vase?” He says, with a chortle.

 

“I need…” Credence rasps, “I need to… to buy…” Words seem to be too much and he heaves a shuddering breath. He can taste bile on the back of his tongue but he clamps his jaw and keeps it at bay.

 

“Credence?” Mr. Graves says, the words reach the boy’s ears slowly, as if he were under water. Blackness rings the edge of his vision.

 

“Ma says… I need to get…” He tries again. If he can just get what he needs and get to school everything will be okay. But as he tries to right himself and turn to Mr. Graves his perception tilts and he’s dragged under by the darkness.

 

When Credence comes to, it takes a minute before he gets his bearings. Somehow he’s in the air, what’s more surprising is that Mr. Graves seems to be carrying him with ease. Although thin from malnutrition, Credence is not a small boy. The man puts him down and leans him against a wall in the back, Credence lets out a whimper when his back makes contact.

 

“Woah, easy there. You awake?” Mr. Graves asks.

 

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” He replies, albeit a bit slurred and still not totally conscious.

 

“Whatever for?”

 

“For collapsing like that.” He says, “For making you deal with me. For ruining your shirt.” A puzzled look overtakes Mr. Graves’ face until he looks down. His white shirt is stained red in the areas Credence was pressed against him. His usually calm demeanor slips a little bit 

and he turns back to the kid. 

 

“Credence, what happened?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Please, let me see.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“If you don’t I’m going to call an ambulance, I can’t have you bleeding to death in my shop.” Mr. Graves’ voice turns stern. He doesn’t want to pressure the boy but he knows he needs medical attention.

 

“No!” Credence says, very much alert now. “Please, don’t call anyone. I-I’ll show you. Just don’t call anyone. Promise me.” 

 

He knows he shouldn’t agree to that promise. He should tell someone about whatever the boy is hiding under that jacket. But he doesn’t want to break his trust. With a sigh, he agrees,  “Okay, I won’t.”

 

Slowly Credence peels his jacket and starts undoing the buttons of his shirt. He lets the soiled fabrics fall to the ground and bares his back to a man he doesn’t even know. A stranger that has shown him more kindness in two days than his mother has shown him in eighteen years. When Mr. Graves sees the mangled flesh it takes all his efforts not to gasp. Instead he quietly says, “Wait here.” and disappears for a moment before returning with a heavily packed first aid kit. 

 

“Who did this to you?”

 

Credence is thankful he doesn’t have to see the look of disgust on the man’s face when he sees how hideous his body is. He doesn’t want to tell, but he feels he owes the man that much, “My mother.” He says, trying not to make a sound when hands start cleaning the cuts.

 

“Nobody who does this to their child has a right to be called a parent.” Mr. Graves says. Credence is stunned at the bold words but feels a bit comforted by them nonetheless. They sit in silence for a long time as his back is bandaged up. “You’re lucky none of these are deep enough to need stitches, but they are long though so you’re going to have to take care of them.” 

 

He nods at the words. “I’m sorry you have to do this. I know I’m not a pretty sight.”

 

“Don’t worry, repair is something of a specialty of mine. I’m used to seeing damage. And you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, where one person sees something broken another sees an opportunity. It’s all about perspective, my dear boy.” After a few more minutes pass the man speaks up again, “Can I ask you something?”

 

“Of course.”   
  


“How old are you?”

 

“Eighteen, sir.”

 

“Why don’t you leave then?”

 

Credence huffs out a laugh at that, “Where am I going to go? I don’t have friends or any other family. The foster system won’t do much for someone my age. No, it’s best where I am at least I know what to expect. The devil you know and all that?”

 

“I have a proposition for you.” Mr. Graves says. After wrapping the last bandage, he comes around and sits down in front of Credence. “Would you like to stay with me?” He asks, “I’ve been having difficulty running the shop by myself. My old bones aren’t what they used to be. You could have a place to stay, food, and you can help me here with the heavy lifting.”

 

Credence is stunned into silence, absolutely lost for words. An unexpected tightness clenches in his chest and he buries his face into the man’s shoulder and sobs. Mr. Graves tries to soothe him as best as he can without touching his injuries and they stay that way for a long time until Credence settles. Without looking up he mumbles, “I think I’d like that very much, sir.”

 

Mr. Graves’ face breaks into a smile, he tilts Credence’s head up to look at him and the boy returns it with a shy grin of his own. Before he can question his own actions, Mr. Graves leans down and presses his lips to Credence’s. When he pulls away a look of shock has settled over the kid’s face. Graves reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose, he’s fucked this one up royaly he’s sure.

 

“Credence I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me. Please, forgive—” But his words are drowned out when the boy clutches his lapels and draws him in for a searing kiss. The boy licks and sucks at Graves’ lips like a dying man at water and Percival is only too happy to give him everything. The break way again and Graves presses his forehead to Credence. He hears the boy start giggling beneath him and when he looks there are tears in his eyes.

 

“Thank you.” Credence says with a full, genuine smile.

 

The rest of the day passes in a haze much different than the one he’s currently been living in. Even with the pain in his back he feels lighter. Mr. Graves makes them a simple lunch of peanut butter and jelly, gives Credence a new shirt from one of the racks, and then he lets him take a nap in the shop for a few hours on one of the couches. When he wakes it’s at least seven at night, Ma will be angry but he can’t bring himself to care, this is his last night with her. Mr. Graves offers to drive him home, which he accepts. The drive is quiet and before he goes inside his house a cell phone is pressed into his hand. He’s about to protest when the man waves him off, “It’s a company phone, I’ve had it for a while it might as well get some use. My number is speed dial one.” With a word of thanks he leaves the vehicle, but not before he hears, “Oh, don’t forget this.” Mr. Graves hands him a white vase, similar to and just as ugly as the last one.

 

He opens the door and almost immediately trips over a sherry bottle. He walks forward and places the new vase on the stand, looking around there are many empty bottles lying around. More than normal even on a drinking night. Suddenly he feels like he’s suffocating and he yelps in pain as his mother crushes him in a hug. “Credence!” She says, her voice slurring from the alcohol. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re okay.” She starts weeping into his chest and he can’t help but wonder if he’s been transported to an alternate universe. “The school c-called, and said you didn’t make it in today. And I thought, I thought after…” Her body is heaving and she seems to be unable to get any more words out. Credence pries himself from her grip just in time as her crying turns to vomiting. She retches all over the floor Credence can do nothing but place a soothing hand on her back.

 

“Come on, Ma. Let’s go to the bathroom.” He says, and she follows him on unsteady legs. He sits down next to her and holds her hair as she heaves into the bowl. He keeps making small circles with his palm on her back and whispers words of comfort. Once she seems to be done she turns back and grabs hold of him again, pressing her face into the crook of his neck and placing a hand on the back of his neck he finds her voice again,

 

“After everything I thought something terrible had happened. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I lost you.” She says, “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I know I couldn’t go on without you.”

 

And with that it all comes crumbling down. She starts bawling again and Credence can feel his shirt soaking through with tears, snot, and vomit. He holds her tight to him and knowing he’s going to regret his choices later, he says, “I got a job today, Ma. I-I didn’t make it to school because I was a little hurt. But I fixed myself up and I got a job too, so it wasn’t a bad day. I know you always say you need help getting enough food on the table so I thought I could help us.” He sends a silent prayer to God that his mother is drunk enough on sherry and guilt that his half-lie works. For once, his prayers are answered.

 

“My good boy. What a good idea. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”   


“Let’s get ready for bed, Ma.” He says, taking her to her room and letting her collapse on her bed. She’s asleep almost immediately and he makes sure she’s on her side so she doesn’t choke in the middle of the night. To be safe Credence goes to the kitchen and makes a pot of coffee, he’s going to be up all night checking in on her and she’s going to want some for the hangover in the morning. After brewing he finds his cellphone and when he answers, Mr. Graves’ voice is urgent on the other end of the line, “Credence, are you okay? Has something happened?”

 

“I can’t do it. I’m so sorry.” He mutters, he’s desperate not to let the man down.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“My Ma, she needs me. I can’t leave her.” 

 

“My boy, please think about what  _ you _ need for once.” He says, in a worried voice.

 

His heart hurts at the compassion he hears from the other, but he forges on, “You should’ve seen her tonight and that was just after one day. I can’t put her through that again.”

 

“After eighteen years do you think she’s going to stop now?”

 

“No.” He says resigned, “But still, I can’t.” His voice cracks as tears begin to fall. He was  _ so close _ .

 

“I understand, it’s okay.” From the tense sound of his voice Credence doesn’t think he really means that, “You keep this phone okay? Call me if you need anything.”

 

“I was wondering,” he begins, “would it still be okay if I worked for you? I asked Ma, and she said yes…”

 

“Of course, starting tomorrow after school?”

 

“I’ll be there sir…” Credence trails off.

 

“Is there anything else you need Credence?”

 

“No sir, I just wanted to ask…” He starts, blush coloring his cheeks, “Can we still do,  _ stuff _ , like we did earlier? I-If that was just a one time thing that’s okay I just wasn’t sure if—”   
  


“I’d like that very much if that’s something you want to continue. But please keep in mind you are never obligated to do anything with me. You can always say no to anything I offer, okay?”

 

“Okay, but I don’t think I want to say no Mr. Graves.” Credence hears a chuckle from the other end of the line.

 

“Very well then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“You have a good night.”   
  


“You as well, my boy.”

  
  


After two months on the job Credence feels better than he ever has in his life. His routine is easy; he drives (actually drives!) to school, gets out at three and goes to work, Mr. Graves lets him do his homework at the shop and he always brings Credence lunch even if he’s already eaten that day, he stays until nine when he drives home (he makes sure to park the van around the corner so Ma doesn't see), then he goes in and gets to bed. He doesn’t see much of Ma these days and it’s almost like she’s avoiding him, which he doesn’t complain about.

 

If Mr. Graves (please Credence, you can call me Percival) is already in the shop he sweeps Credence up into his arms. Sometimes the man peppers him with teasing kisses, sometimes it’s hot and slow and languid. Man times they’ve ended up falling onto one of the many chairs or couches that litter the shop and Mr. Graves says he wants to teach him everything about the pleasure he’s been missing (for God’s sake, not on the merchandise though Credence. If we are doing this we are doing it right and when you’re ready you’re coming to my house and I’m going to woo you with dinner, and chocolates, and—Credence stop laughing at me!) 

 

When he question Mr. Graves how he can afford to take care of him like he does with the company phone, and the company van, and the food the man just laughs and says his family owns the property of the shop and surrounding land. He doesn’t even  _ need _ to keep the place open but he says, “Healthy work keeps a healthy heart.” And Credence doesn’t disagree.

 

In that time he also learns how to repair with Kintsugi. There was a day Mr. Graves allowed him to smash various items in the shop and then he taught him how to put them back together again. He thinks the man let him destroy so many just to make him feel better, which it did. One day, working on his statistics homework in the back, he jumps as the Big Mouth Billy Bass starts blaring  _ Take Me to the River _ . He emerges from the back and sees a man who very much stands out in his nice suit— which is saying something given the items the Emporium sells. He puts on his best smile, still a little forced from years of disuse, and goes out to greet the man.

 

“Hello, welcome to Mr. Graves’ Furniture Emporium, my name is Credence, how can I help you?”

 

“Hi. I was wondering if you’d be able to fix something for me?” The man says, pulling out a splintered plate of China from the bag he’s holding, “This set is very important to my wife and I’d rather not have to buy a new one.” Credence lays the pieces out on the counter as he’s been told to do. There’s about seven shards altogether and he does his best of line the cracks up.

 

“I won’t be able to fix it like it was before sir, I’m sorry.” He says, and the man looks crestfallen, “However there may be a way, have you heard of Kintsugi?” He explains the process and the man quickly accepts, choosing silver over gold and leaving his number to call when it’s done.

 

Credence takes the plate to the back and gets to work. He’s a little nervous since it’s his first time without Mr. Graves’ help, but he’s confident in the man’s training. He mixes the paste and spreads it carefully over the jagged edges, the silver mending the fine glass. Delicate hands rebuild the China, filling in the gaps, and sweeping off the excess pigment until the pieces finally come together looking like a plate once more. 

  
The days pass as the glass cools and Credence gives the man in the suit a call to pick it up. Retrieving it from the drying rack the holds it up, the silver scars spiderweb throughout the white glass. The damage is not just noticeable, it’s accentuated by the new color. Bending and twisting their way around like tendrils of smoke, glittering when the light catches it. A small smile curves on Credence’s face, proud of his work, and he can’t help but agree with what Mr. Graves says. It really is more beautiful than before.


End file.
